


You're Still Divine

by Dresupi



Series: Quicktaser Fics [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcy can get it, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Jealous Pietro, Jealousy, Lab Sex, Mike from Accounts Payable, One Shot, Oral Sex, PWP, Smut, mostly plot, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/pseuds/Dresupi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy and Pietro have a FWB relationship, but Pietro gets jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Still Divine

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a tumblr prompt. 
> 
> I am incapable of writing drabbles for these two. I swear. 
> 
> Soundtrack: "You're So Damn Hot" by OK Go. (Title comes from a lyric)
> 
> I sent this to my beta, but I'm so completely terrible and I want to post it, so I'll fix any mistakes after she gets back to me. (heyfrenchfreudiana is the best)
> 
> Okay. Also: The italicized portion is a flashback.

“Friends…with benefits?” he asked, arching an eyebrow quizzically. 

“Yeah,” Darcy nodded enthusiastically, “All the fun, none of the responsibility?” 

And with her hips grinding down against his erection, he wasn’t really in a position to argue with that.  “I do like fun…” he admitted, inhaling sharply when she attached her lips to his neck.  “And I hate responsibility…” 

She chuckled, the sound muffled against his neck.  It sent a shiver down his spine and straight down to where she was pressed against him. 

And he wasn’t sure why he was hesitating.  Darcy was fucking beautiful.  And she wanted to fuck him.  Usually that was enough. 

But it was DARCY.  They were friends.  They watched movies together and played pranks on Clint and went out for greasy cheeseburgers at 3 am.  They did NOT have sex.   Not that he hadn’t thought about it.  A lot.

He’d noticed the way she filled out those tight sweaters and blue jeans. And the way that she smelled.  Like freshly baked cookies.  All the fucking time.  Made his mouth water.  And the cute way she smiled, toothy and wide, when he said something funny.  The way she willfully mispronounced Sokovian words when he used them.

And he’d thought about what it would be like to be her boyfriend.  To be able to cuddle with her on the couch whenever he wanted, instead of just when she was tired and fell asleep against him. 

But then he’d go off to one of his “Twinkies” (her words) and she’d go off on one of her numerous dates with men who didn’t deserve her and it was never spoken of. 

And now, here she was talking about a kind of arrangement.  Where they had sex with no responsibilities.  That sounded fake, but it was DARCY, so he didn’t really care if it came with responsibilities. 

“Piet? You good?”

She was looking at him, gray eyes searching his face, full red lips parted slightly, pale cheeks flushed. Hips still grinding slightly against him.  Against his dick that was suddenly impossible to ignore. Painfully hard.  He stammered, “Yeah.  Yes.  It’s good.  Let’s…yeah.  Do…that.” 

She laughed softly, leaning forward to press those plump lips against his and he finally remembered how to use his hands as he ran them up her sides and under her t-shirt to where her bra was fastened. 

“You sure about this, Wonder Boy?” 

He nodded, leaning up to kiss her neck, delighting in the shudder that ensued.  “Completely…” 

* * *

Not completely.  Not even close.  Because…Fuck.  This was hard.  One month in and he was completely ruined.  She was all he thought about.  

And now, she was putting on make-up, getting ready for a date, and he was trying to think of ways to keep her here. 

He zipped over to the vanity, sitting atop it. 

“Who IS this guy?” 

She jumped and swore because it made her mess up her eyebrow. 

“I met him at work.” 

“What’s his name?” He was trying and failing at casual conversation.   

She grabbed a tissue from the box beside her, glaring in his direction.  “Nunya.” 

He frowned, “What?” 

“As in Nunya Business…” she smirked and wet the tissue so she could start over. She relented, though.  “His name’s Mike.  He works in accounting here.”    

“Does he know about me?” 

“Does he know that you, Pietro Maximoff, exist?” she asked.  “Why yes, yes he does.” 

“I mean…does he know about…us?” 

“I didn’t feel it was prudent to bring it up.” 

He scratched his head absently.  “But…” 

“We’re not in a relationship.” 

“I know that but—“ 

“You said you’d be cool with this,” she said, almost accusingly. 

“I know, but…what happens if this goes well?” 

Her reflection frowned at him, “What do you mean?” 

“If this goes well?  And you start to date him…more?” He didn’t want to think about that possibility, but… 

“I’ll tell him about you and we’ll go from there.” 

He sighed, “And what?  I’ll have to share you?” 

“You don’t have me to share,” she snapped. 

“Not what I meant…” he muttered.  “I meant…you’ll spend less time with me?” 

“Well, we’d still have sex.  I mean…that’s all this is, right?  Sex?” 

* * *

_He slid his hands up under her skirt, pushing her back against the countertop.  His fingers sought out the source of her heat, brushing against the damp fabric of her panties._

_She keened, rolling her hips towards him, her hands fumbling with his waist band, tugging it down with his underwear, she dropped to her knees in front of him._

_He shuddered when she wrapped her hand around his cock, pumping it slowly and leaning forward, sweeping her tongue broadly over the head._

_He inhaled sharply, looking down at her while she teased him.  Her tongue swiping over and over again._

_“Darcy…” he pleaded, alternately clenching and releasing his hands because he knew she didn’t like it when he grabbed the back of her head._

_She giggled softly, her breath ghosting over him.  “This is payback for last time…it’s not nice to leave a lady hanging…”_

_“I didn’t…not for long…” he grunted, his hips bucking towards her, not exactly sure in that moment which time she was referring to._

_She leaned forward more, enveloping him in the slick warmth of her mouth, tongue fluttering.  He grunted, catching himself on the counter behind her, rattling the empty beakers and random other lab apparatus._

_“Stark’s probably recording this…” he groaned as she released him, her lips popping as they broke suction.  Sex in the lab wasn’t unheard of, but it was a first for them._

_“Let him…” she grinned.  “We can get a copy and watch it later…”_

_“Ježišmarjá…” he blurted, as she sucked his entire length into that perfect mouth of hers._

_She moved slowly up and down his dick, her cheeks hollowed and her tongue wiggled up the underside.  He wasn’t going to make it to the end of this, she was driving him crazy._

_He stopped her, pulling her up to her feet and hoisting her up on the counter in front of them._

_“You’re so impatient…” she chastised, arching an eyebrow._

_He smiled nervously.  “It’s not fun if you’re not enjoying yourself…” he yanked her panties off in one fell swoop, throwing them over his shoulder to the floor._

_“Who said I wasn’t?” she was somehow managing to look coy, even though she was about 10 seconds from being thoroughly fucked.  He never could figure out how she did that.  He was a stammering mess when he wanted her._

_“Me…” he stated, sliding his fingers over her slick pussy, down from her clit to her entrance._

_She half smirked, half gasped at the intrusion, “I beg to differ, Piet…”_

_He never ceased to be amazed at just how wet she could get for him.  Just for him, he liked to think, but it wasn’t true, and that was what spurred him forward, fumbling in the pocket of his track pants that were now around his knees for the condom he kept there just in case._

_His fingers were slippery with her, so she ripped the foil for him and rolled it over his stiff cock, lining him up with her opening as he grabbed under her knees for leverage and surged forward, encasing himself in her pussy. His head dropped to her shoulder as she ran her fingers through his hair._

_“Fuck…” he bit out against her shirt, wishing they were back in his apartment, completely naked so he could worship her body like he preferred.  Later.  He could do that later._

_Her legs tightened around his waist and she tugged on his hair, forcing him to look at her as he bucked into her.  “Harder…” she whispered, and he couldn’t do anything but oblige her.  The things on the countertop rattled, and his breath came out harsh and raw as he fucked her, bringing one hand up to thumb at her clit, feeling her clench tightly around him._

_“God…Piet…” she moaned, clawing at his back.  If it weren’t for his shirt, he’d be carrying marks. He felt a smile begin to spread as he moved his thumb in circles against her and kept up the pace she liked.  “God, you’re so good…” she continued, dropping her knees to the side to allow him better access.  “So damn good…”_

_If she knew how he LIVED to hear her say that, she’d probably get mad at him.  This wasn’t supposed to be anything more than what it was…_

* * *

_“Well, we’d still have sex.  I mean…that’s all this is, right?  Sex?”_ Her question loomed in the air around him. 

 _Maybe for you…_ he thought bitterly, nodding his head to the contrary.   

She shrugged, “Well…this guy would just be for…like…dating stuff.  Going places.” 

“WE could go places.” 

“You hate going places.” 

“I like you, though. I’d go places with you…” 

Her expression softened.  “Pietro…we both know we couldn’t handle a full relationship.  You still have your Twinkies. You aren’t going to give them up for me, are you?” 

He nodded again. And she went back to her make-up.  And he went back to pining away for her as he perched on the edge of the tub. 

He didn’t have the Twinkies though. He HAD given them up. He hadn’t seen another one since he and Darcy first got together.  He hadn’t meant for it to happen that way.  But he wanted to be available whenever she needed him.  And now it felt like she’d be upset if she knew. 

“Why don’t you just call one of them tonight, Piet?  I mean…I know it’s short notice.  But someone’s bound to want to do something.” 

He tried to smile convincingly.  “Yeah, okay.”

“Kay…” she beamed, seemingly pleased with herself.  “I couldn’t have fun if I thought you were back here upset that I went out…” 

He set his jaw before replying, “No…that’s a…good idea.  Maybe…that’s what I need is a change…I mean…we’ve been…for the past two weeks…” 

He saw her throat move as she swallowed thickly. 

 _So she WAS affected_ , he thought smugly. 

“Well…I guess this couldn’t have happened at a better time, then,” she said in a clipped tone, dropping her mascara into her cosmetic bag and inspecting her face in the mirror. 

He felt a pang of remorse for making her upset.  God, she was beautiful, though.  “Darcy…” he ventured.

“Hmm?” she raised her eyebrow and made eye contact in the mirror. 

“If you need anything…later…you can call…” 

“Nah…” she shook her head.  “You DESERVE a night off.” 

_I don’t want it though._

“Still…don’t hesitate.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded.  “Kay.” 

He zipped out of the room and out of her apartment because he didn’t want to be there when HE got there to pick her up.  Or maybe she was meeting him somewhere.  He didn’t want to know.  He slumped on his couch and turned on the TV. 

* * *

Mike smiled too much. 

But maybe he was nervous.  She WAS pretty smokin’ tonight.  So maybe it was okay that he was nervous. But her conversation with Piet had shaken her resolve and she couldn’t really get into the date. 

They were going to a craft beer tasting at some hipster bar in the Village. 

And all she could think about was how sad Pietro had looked when he left.  She didn’t want him to be sad. 

“So what do you like to do in your spare time?” Mike asked, revving the engine at the stoplight. 

She waited for the noise to die down before she answered. 

_Strike one, Mike.  I do not like motor heads.  Especially ones who ask me a question and then rev their loud ass engine so I can’t answer right away._

He cocked an eyebrow, “Sorry…” 

_What do I do in my spare time?  Pietro Maximoff.  And he’s nowhere near as douchey as you are._

“Um…not much.  Yoga?” 

_That’s what we’ll call it._

“Cool.  So you’re like…really flexible?” 

_OH GOD._

She shrugged, “I guess.” 

“So like…I was really excited that you said yes…I mean…I didn’t think I stood a chance with you…you’re so…” 

_You still kinda don’t, hate to break it to ya._

_-Give him a chance.  He’s probably just nervous._

_Pietro is NEVER like this.  Pietro is smooth as butter.  Pietro would never rev a car engine when you’re trying to talk._

“Beautiful…” he grinned. 

_He’s expecting praise._

“Thanks.” 

“No problem…” he looked at the road in front of them.

He used his phone to find a place to park, which looked like it was further from the bar than Stark Tower had been. 

“Can I leave my purse in here?” she asked. 

“Yeah.  No problem. Don’t forget your ID.  And your credit card, right?” 

She cocked an eyebrow.  “Kay.” 

“Just kidding about the credit card.” 

She frowned, “What?” 

 _The fuck, man?  Knock this shit off or I’m leaving._  

“I mean, leave your card, I’m paying.” 

“Oh.  Kay.” 

_And I’m supposed to gush because you’re paying a 20 dollar cover charge for me to get into this thing?_

“I mean, it’s not a big deal.  Just got a promotion at work.” 

“Cool.” 

She pulled out her ID and her phone, seriously contemplating texting Pietro.  Asking him to wait for her to get back.  As soon as she possibly could. For twenty bucks, there couldn’t be THAT many beers, right? 

* * *

Wrong. 

There were at least fifteen different beers.  In little mugs.  And all of them were disgusting. 

Seriously, who makes a peppermint beer, and then serves it first, so EVERYTHING afterwards tastes like when you first brush your teeth after you vomit?  The douchebags who brewed ‘Nuclear Winter’ apparently. At least she’d know what all these would taste like coming back up.   

Fifteen beers, at ten minutes between…makes for…a fuck-ass long time she’d be sitting here, watching Mike the Dickhole from Accounts Payable bro out hard with his friends. 

Fuck if this wasn’t the worst date she’d ever been on.  Dick move to bring a chick somewhere where YOU knew everyone and she knew no one.  So she had to walk around like your fucking accessory all evening. 

Darcy Lewis was NOT arm candy.

Was it rude to call another guy to come get you in the middle of a terrible date?  Probably.  She groaned and knocked back something called “Parmaggeddon.” 

She coughed.  It tasted like feet. 

“What the fuck?” she glanced around the hopeful faces of all the fedora-wearing-neckbeards. 

“It’s brewed with fresh parmesan cheese…” someone said. 

“Oh…” she tried to smile and think of anything to get the disgusting taste out of her mouth. Vomiting wasn’t looking like such a bad idea now.  The next couple weren’t nearly as bad as “Parmaggeddon”.  Something called the “Drunk Mermaid” and then a dark chocolate stout called “Chocolate Thunder”. 

By the time she’d chugged both of those, everything was a little fluffy. 

She was going to go over to sit down, but Mike wrapped his arm around her waist. She wanted to roll her eyes. 

She slunk out of his grasp and went to the bathroom.  She pulled her phone out of her pocket to text Pietro: 

_“This date sucks.  Wish I was with you.  Wanna come pick me up?”_

She pocketed her phone and stayed in the teeny bathroom for as long as she could, waiting for his reply.  There wasn’t one.  He was probably tongue deep in some bleached blonde something.  Which…was what she told him to do.  So she couldn’t get upset.  Just because her own date was a fucking drip didn’t mean she could get mad at Pietro for doing exactly what she had told him. 

She went back out into the main bar area, sliding back in beside Mike. Trying not to stiffen when he slipped his arm around her waist.  He was clutching at her.  She didn’t like that. 

Pietro never clutched unless they were fucking. Never fisted his hand into her shirt unless he was pulling it off.  The irony that she was comparing this hapless idiot to Pietro wasn’t lost on her. 

There were fucking feelings there, dammit.  There weren’t supposed to be feelings.  She wasn’t supposed to be jealous of his bleached blonde somethings and she wasn’t supposed to be comparing every guy to him.  And every guy wasn’t supposed to fall short either. Falling short would have been palatable.  As it was, Mike was that horrible cheese beer and Pietro was a fucking smooth shot of vodka.  One was so disgusting that you couldn’t even finish the glass, and the other was almost dangerously smooth; before you knew it, you were drunk off your ass and drinking it straight from the bottle.

Mike laughed loudly, squeezing her tighter.

Eleven beers later and things were more than a little fluffy.

“So…uh…Darce…you wanna come back to my place?” 

She looked into Mike’s non-descript eyes, running hers over his terrible Super Cuts haircut.

“No, not really,” she said bluntly. 

He looked surprised.  “Oh…uh…I’m sorry…did you have a bad time?” 

She shrugged.  “I dunno, I just want to go home.” 

“You feeling sick?  You can come crash on my couch if you want…” 

“Nah.  Just…take me home.”   

“Aww…don’t worry about it, Darce.  I’ll take ya home…just let me go get the car, I’ll pull it around, kay?”   

“Oh, okay, thanks.” 

_THAT was surprisingly easy._

Her phone hadn’t buzzed, so she knew Pietro either hadn’t seen the text, or he was still pissed at her. 

Which, whatever.  They’d have to talk this out. Because…if a real relationship was what they both wanted, there was going to have to be a lot of talking and soul-searching. Because she wasn’t going to lose him from her life just because they’d crossed a line that they shouldn’t have crossed. 

_God, when did everything get so fucked up?_

She sat down at the booth by the window, so she could see Mike pull up. 

Or, see him peel off down the street with his middle finger in the air. 

“Fuck.”   

With her purse still in the trunk of his car.  The bastard.

“Double fuck…”

So no money.  No way to pay for a cab.  And little to no clue how to walk home from here.  Oh.  And she was pretty shit faced too.  Perfect.

She pulled out her phone, hesitating before calling Pietro. 

And just as she suspected, it rang through to voicemail.

 _Probably dick deep in his bleached blonde something,_ she thought bitterly. 

She thought about calling Jane, but remembered that she was over in London this week.  And while Jane would probably drop everything to come get her, she probably wouldn’t make last call without some serious help of the Asgardian kind.  And the Asgardian kind was back on Asgard.  So that left her with no other option but to start walking. 

She slipped off her pumps and opened up her phone, thanking whoever was listening for GPS. 

It was only a 45 minute walk back to the Tower, but she WAS barefoot.  And schnockered. 

The pavement was rough on her feet. 

So much for that fucking pedicure. 

She slipped on her shoes for a while, but the heels made her tipsiness more apparent.  Plus there was the little problem of the blisters.  This was the LAST fucking time she was wearing heels on a date. 

Fuck this. 

Fuck this with a brick sideways. 

And about 10 minutes from the tower, when her feet were torn and probably bleeding, and she’d probably scared half of Manhattan with her drunken, angry ramblings, her phone rang.  Fucking Pietro finally returning her call.  And she was a little pissed with men as a species at that point, so she fucking ignored the call.  Sent it to voicemail.  He could worry for a little while.  He’d been fucking some Twinkie while she’d been schlepping her drunk, barefoot self up Park Avenue.  Yeah. He could worry for a little while.

Her phone buzzed.  She glanced down at it.  A text from Pietro. 

_“Where are u?”_

She grumbled, unlocking the phone and swiping furiously.  

_“Fuck you, Pietro.  Fuck you and your stupid Twinkies.  And fuck Mike from fucking Accounts Payable.  You know what? Fuck all men.  You’re all a bunch of fuckwad dickholes.  Fuck 50% of the planet because of YOU.”_

She hit send with a flourish, closing her phone and stomping her way over to a bench to rest. 

* * *

He waited for her reply, really wishing he hadn’t been such a dick and had just GONE when she first texted him. 

How the fuck was he supposed to convince her that he could handle a real relationship if he couldn’t act like an adult?  He’d been sitting here, glowering at the reruns of MASH on his television like a petulant child.  While she’d texted him once to ask him to come get her.  And called him again an hour later. 

In his defense, he’d been in the bathroom when she’d called and then he’d forgotten to check his phone, but whatever.  And then, she was probably mad, since she ignored his return call. 

So, he’d texted her. 

His phone buzzed with her reply and he swiped the screen to read it. 

_“Fuck yuppy pap.  Fuck yuppy and type drops twinkie.  And fixing Mike from abound payable.  Tough know what? Fuck all men.  Yoga all a bunch of fucking duck holes.  Fuck 50% of the planet because of yuppy.”_

“What the…” he squinted at the screen.  “What?” 

He closed the message and called her, only to be sent directly to voicemail. 

He sighed in frustration and called again. 

Straight to voicemail. 

“You can ignore me all you want….I have all night…” he muttered. 

She finally picked up on the fourth call. 

“You…” she seethed. 

“Yes…it’s me…” he said warily. 

“You have a LOT of nerve calling me…” Her words were slurring together.   

“Are you drunk?” 

She snorted and stammered, “Ha.  What?  No.” 

“You are...where’s your date?” 

She chuckled without humor. “You know what?  Fuck him.” 

He heard cars in the background, “Are you outside?” 

“Yes.” 

“Darcy, do you need me to come get you?” 

“I NEEDED you to come get me 45 minutes ago.  Now, I’m almost there.” 

“Almost where?  Where are you? Where’s your date?” 

“HE…He ran off with my…Purse…” she slurred, “That’s where his ass is.” 

“He stole your purse?  Darcy…tell me where you are, I’ll come get you.” 

“FFFFFUUUCCK you, Prieto.” 

She was kind of adorable when she was drunk.  But he still needed to find out where she was. He could adore her later. 

She yelled something incoherent at someone else. 

“Darcy…tell me where you are, _Princeza._ ”

“Why do YOU care?  Hmm?  I called you, and you were probably balls deep in a…fucking…bimbo and couldn’t be b-bothered.” 

“I was NOT.  I was watching MASH reruns…” he paused, “AND you TOLD me to call someone.  SO, even if I was, you can’t get mad at me.” 

“Well…” 

“Aww…Darcy Lewis.  You DO care.” 

“I do not. Fuck whoever you want.” 

“I do, believe me.”

 _Just you, Pretty Lady._   

She sniffed loudly.  “Whatever.” 

“I am sorry I missed your call.  I was in the restroom.” 

She snorted, “For forty-five minutes?  Did you go eat food-truck chimichangas with Clint and Wade?” 

“NO.  I was there, I left my phone in the living room, I came back, and didn’t check it. And YOU didn’t leave a voicemail.” 

“NO.  I was pissed.” 

“I’m sorry I missed your call.”

“AND ignored my text.” 

He felt his face grow red. Yes, she was right.  He was a petty bastard. 

“And ignored your text.” 

Now was NOT the time to talk about THEM, so he moved past it. 

“Tell me where you are, I’m worried.” 

“Look.  Don’t even bother.  I can SEE the tower now, so…” 

“How do you know it’s the tower?” 

“Because…it has a big ‘A’ on it…” 

“I know where you are…” 

“You do not…” she protested as he zipped out to the elevator. 

The elevator ride down took the longest, about 5 minutes from the floor he was on to the lobby.  But only 30 seconds to zip down the street and find her inebriated form walking up Park Avenue. 

She had her shoes in one hand, her phone in the other. 

“Hi there, Pretty Lady…” he sidled up to her. 

“I SAID, I don’t have any heroin, now leave me—Oh.  It’s you.”  She stomped particularly hard as she tried to speed up and winced. 

He looked down at her feet.  Blistered, bleeding slightly.  Chipped toenails.  What the hell had she been doing? 

“I’ll carry you,” he said. 

“No, that’s…” 

But they were already back in the lobby of the tower and she was retching up the contents of her stomach onto the floor. 

“Sorry…” he reached out to gingerly rub her back.  “I usually tell people to tuck their heads…” 

“No, it’s fine…it was coming up anyway.  I was going to force it if it didn’t do it on its own…”  She wiped her mouth and surveyed the floor. 

He helped her to the elevator, confident that Stark’s security system would alert someone to the vomit on the floor. 

And he brought her to his apartment, despite her weak protestations.  And held her hair back while she puked for the second time. And stayed in the bathroom while she showered. And bandaged her feet, which weren’t as bad as he’d initially thought.  And laid with her on the couch when she refused his bed. 

She had fallen asleep soon enough, her hands clutching at his shirt, her legs tangled with his.

And he was laying there, his body winding around hers, trying to come to grips with the fact that he wanted more from her and he was going to have to actually TELL her that at some point.  

But…even if this was all she wanted…he would find a way to make his peace with it.  He had to. 

* * *

She woke up the next morning, looking around the dark living room and panicking for a moment. 

_Where am I?  What the fuck happened last night??  Oh my GOD whose living room is this?_

But then Piet stirred beside her and the events of the previous night came crashing back into her in the form of a monstrous headache. 

She groaned and closed her eyes. 

He chuckled beside her, extricating his limbs from around hers and nimbly climbing over the back of the couch, heading in the direction of the kitchen. 

He shuffled around out there, opening the fridge and zipping back out beside her with a bottle of water in hand.  He tucked her hair behind her ear and pressed a kiss to her temple.  “I’ll get some aspirin...” 

God, he was gorgeous first thing in the morning.  It should be illegal to look that good.  And right now, he was an angel, bringing her water and aspirin. 

She sat up gingerly, sipping from the water bottle. She grabbed her phone from the coffee table, spying a message from Mike. 

_Great…_

She opened it, squinting at the bright screen and expecting a nasty message at the very least, a dick pic at the worst. 

It was neither.  Just an FYI that he had her purse with him down in accounting, and she could come get it anytime.   

She texted him back, telling him she might have to send a friend to get it, since she had a hangover. 

She got no reply, but she assumed he had received the message.  She let the phone slide from her fingers, wincing as it thumped on the carpet.  

Piet returned in a flash with two white pills, which she swallowed before drinking more water. 

He was already dressed, or changed, toothbrush in his mouth as he brushed his teeth. 

“Where are you going?” she asked, watching him zip back to the bathroom, heard the water turn on and off.  He was pulling on his shoes when he reappeared in the living room. 

“The store,” he said, grinning.  “I have no food here.” 

Bile rose in her throat. She shook her head, covering her mouth and waving vaguely in his direction, “No…please…” 

 “Well, I need to eat something, but don’t worry.  I’ll eat it out there…” he gestured towards his front door.  “Do you need anything?” he asked, “Gatorade? Hair of the dog?” 

“Yes to the first. Orange or Blue.” 

He flashed her a wide grin and disappeared into the hallway.

He was gone before she could ask him to swing by and get her purse.  Oh well, she had all day.    

* * *

Pietro returned to the apartment a half hour later, blue Gatorade in tow, along with her purse and some bruised knuckles. 

He flexed his fingers, wincing at the stretch.  _Worth it._

Mike had been…a complete asshole.  Not at first.  At first, he just handed the purse over after Pietro asked for it, eying him suspiciously the whole time. Probably wondering what he was to Darcy.  And Pietro was just going to get the purse and leave.  Just going to get it, give it back to Darcy so she wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him again.  Surprise her with it, even. 

But Mike…Mike was not only an asshole, he was a stupid asshole. 

Because, as Pietro was about to leave, Mike muttered under his breath, “Enjoy my sloppy seconds.” 

And that was the story of how Pietro had ended up with bruised knuckles.  And how Mike had ended up on the floor in a puddle of his own sick with a bloody nose. 

“Now who’s sloppy?” he’d muttered to the blithering mess on the floor before zipping out and ending up where he was now, about to reenter his apartment. 

He schooled his features, opening the door to find Darcy pretty much where he’d left her. 

She frowned when she saw the purse.  “Did I…did I ask you to go get that? Because…I don’t remember…” 

“No,” he said quickly.  “I just…I uh…found it.” 

“You FOUND it?” 

“Yeah.  I found it.  In the accounting department.  With Mike.” 

She frowned, but took the purse from him. 

“And here is your Gatorade,” he held it out with the other hand.  The bruised hand.  The hand with dried blood on it that he now realized he should have washed before coming up here. 

Her mouth fell open when she saw it.  She looked back and forth between him and his hand before falling back on the couch again.  “Oh no…”

“Now…Darcy…” 

“You ASSAULTED him?  Pietro…” she covered her eyes with her hands. 

“I didn’t…assault him…he…ran into my fist.” 

“How many times?” she pressed.

“As many times as it took…” he said flippantly.

“Pietro…” 

“Twice.  He was a wimp,” he shrugged.  She groaned, trying to open her Gatorade to no avail.  He opened it for her, and sat down on the couch beside her.  “Are you mad at me?” he asked quietly. 

“You can’t just…PUNCH people for no reason…” 

“I had a reason.” 

“Look, just because you’re dating me, doesn’t mean that—“ 

“Wait.”  A smile spread across his face.  “Wait…I’m dating you?  We’re dating?”  He let his head hit the back of the couch beside hers. 

She made a noise, “Shut up.” 

“This is so surprising, I wasn’t expecting this at all—“ 

“Shut up.” 

He grinned and leaned over, kissing her cheek.  “And my reason wasn’t that…” he trailed off, realizing he probably should have just let her think it.  She didn’t seem too mad. 

She peeked out of her fingers, “What?  Did he say something to you?  What did he say?” 

He didn’t want to lie.  But he really didn’t want to tell her either.  “Uh….” 

“Piet…” 

He sighed, “I was going to just leave.  I promise…but as I was leaving, he said…’enjoy my sloppy seconds…’” 

Darcy’s hands dropped.  “Piet, I didn’t…you know that, right?  I didn’t…” 

“I know you didn’t…but I couldn’t let him talk about you like that…I’m sorry, Darcy…but—” 

And before he could think, before he could continue his explanation, her lips were on his.  No tongue, no teeth, no rush…just her lips on his lips and all the good things that entailed.  She tasted faintly of morning breath and blue Gatorade, but he didn’t really care.  Her morning breath (hangover breath even) wasn’t that bad and he actually liked blue Gatorade.   

She ended the kiss too soon, but pressed her forehead against his.  “Thank you.” 

“For what?” 

“For…not giving up on me.” 

He shook his head.  “I never would. Even if…that…benefits thing was all you wanted…” 

She kissed him again, her hands were in his hair, soft, not tugging. “Why are you with me?” 

“Why are YOU with me?” 

Her eyes searched his momentarily before she leaned back in for another kiss.  “Oh you know.  You’re fast.  You’re hot.  You punch guys for me.” 

He smirked, looking her up and down.  “Boobs.  That’s why I’m with you.” 

She swatted him and collapsed against him, head on his shoulder.  “I hate you.” 

“No you don’t.” 

“No, I don’t.”   

**Author's Note:**

> A couple things. 
> 
> 1\. That autocorrected disaster of a text message. I actually took my glasses off and tried to text Darcy's message to my husband, (just to see. For Science. And fic research). The result was the autocorrected version Darcy actually sent Piet. My hubby and I had a few good laughs about that.  
> 2\. I did some research into whether or not Pietro actually COULD punch a normal, non super-serum guy, non-robot. My research concluded that the only reason he was able to land punches on Cap or on Ultron was because of his speed. So, probably WOULD do some damage. Not as much as I was worried about though, so the punch stayed in. Because Mike kind of was asking for it in my opinion. *shrugs*  
> 3\. I love comments. I would love to know what you think. *hearts*
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://dresupi.tumblr.com)


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